How I became a witch
by Aldarwen
Summary: (chap. 2 revised, chap. 3 up) Hermione Granger tells the tale of how she first made contact with the wizarding world and entered Hogwarts. Reviews and criticism welcome!)
1. Chapter 1, Weird mail

**How I became a witch**

By Aldarwen

**Disclaimer:** I don't own any characters and places you recognize on this fic. They belong to J. K. Rowling, and I do not want to make any profit or harm from it.

_Chapter 1, Weird mail_

The sun lurks from the window of my bedroom, warming my face with its comforting light. Lazily, I open one eye, and the other, but they are feeling heavy and soon I'm obliged to close them again. Mentally, I blame myself for having left the persiennes open yesterday at night. My mother is constantly reminding me of it, and still, I had made the fantastic achievement of forgetting it all the same. Moreover, I hate to be woken up by the sunlight. It is a habit that I'll only acquire on my late Hogwarts days, from my roommates Parvati and Lavender.

Soon, I realize I haven't woken up as early as I'd thought – though it still feels like – as my alarm clock also shows its first signs of wanting to get me out of bed. If I could barely sleep with the brightness of the room, it is obvious I cannot bear the sound of the clock ringing. I jump to the floor in a minute and feel a sudden urge to hit the alarm clock very badly. However, I refrain from it as my mother enters the room right away.

"Hello, sweetheart," she greets me with the usual sweet Saturday morning smile. "Waken up already?"

I nod as I politely turn off the alarm. It comes as a bit of a relief to my ears. My mother walks through the room to the window, pushing down the persiennes a little, with the usual reprimand.

"Did you leave this open all night?"

As she's not looking at me, I avoid answering. This is almost a rhetorical question between us. My mother knows me well enough to see that if it's still open, that's a sign that I slept with it open, I woke up with the sunlight... and I'm not in a good mood.

"Come on," she says, before closing the door and leaving the room, "I've prepared hot chocolate and toast for your breakfast."

My mood lifts up a bit. If anyone likes to please me at the beginning of the day, it is by preparing hot chocolate. Yum. My stomach seems to have understood the message and starts making those weird noises, asking for food. Hurriedly, I look for my slippers, who are usually beside my bed but might have been placed somewhere else by my cat. When I finally find the pair, she comes running through the door and jumps to my bed, curling in the middle of the sheets.

"Good morning, Greymalkin," I say, stroking her on her elegant and smooth grey back. Soon, however, I hear my mother's call downstairs which reminds me again of breakfast. I leave the room hurriedly. Greymalkin jumps down to the floor again, in her lazy, catlike insinuating way and follows me to the kitchen. It seems as though I'm not the only one eagerly awaiting the first meal of the day.

My mother's already set the table with all the delicious things I wanted. I sit at my chair and I take a long, deep breath. The air of the morning with its refreshing breeze comforts me. It's a sunny but not too hot day, one of those I really love, and soon the mood I've woken up with is replaced by a fairly happy disposition.

"What do you want your toast with?" my mother asks, as she comes through the door and sits in front of me. She already has a toast in her hands. She's fairly efficient in everything she does... sometimes I even think she has some kind of obsession with perfection, mainly in her work. I'm glad she is that way though, or she wouldn't have become a dentist and married my father! But I think I've inherited these characteristics from her, so I can't criticize her. It's not a bad thing at all, although some people may find it annoying at times...

"Marmalade," I say, after my eyes scan the variety of flavours displayed in front of me. My mother swiftly picks the knife and spreads the marmalade on my toast, handing it to me promptly.

I take a bite of it and then sip on the hot chocolate. Mmmmm. Although it's summer, I cannot help but like it, as it is one of my favourite drinks. My mother still finds it weird, though she never really complained about it; she prefers her cool lemonade.

"So how was the party yesterday?" my mother asks, obviously trying to get some conversation going on between us. I'm still watching the coming and going of the cars beyond the window, the monotony of the traffic in our streets. I moan something close to a response.

"It was okay." I shrug. I'm not a party person myself, but when it comes to end of the year parties, I cannot come up with an excuse as easily – chiefly because my mother does not encourage me to. I ended up sitting with Ashley, my best friend, in a corner, and we talked about many things, including the latest history exhibition we went to with school, the Star Wars movie we had both seen on the weekend, and our projects for the future... Ashley told me she'd like to become a scientist. I know how she likes to do research and she's incredibly good at math, so it makes sense. I told her I'd like to become a writer, but in fact, I've never really thought about it. I feel it's so far away, and my life could turn upside down until I have to choose... I guess I could become a writer, like I told my friend, because I have a thing for books and reading. I get lost in those tales of fiction and fantasy, romance and drama, and I wish I could become a part of them someday. And as it is not possible, maybe I could just fulfil part of that dream by bringing that world of my own to life through words.

"You're so quiet," my mother says, startling me from my thoughts. I had become so involved on them that I had become unaware of what happened around me. "Did anything go wrong? Didn't you meet new people?"

I shake my head. Apart from that horrible kid from our class who is teasing everyone every single second and came to annoy us, the party hadn't been boring at all. "I told you, it was _okay_."

My mother sighs and shrugs. Despite her best efforts, I'm not too good at socializing; and I can't say my parents are the best example, either. But I'm just fine this way. I guess I just cannot stand those mindless conversations about nothing, just silly stuff, or the last episode of the soap opera. Every girl in my class is like that; except me and Ashley, of course, and Holly, who hangs out with the boys and spends most of her time playing football with them.

Just about in time to break the silence, my father enters the room. He brings, as usual, the mail on his hands, and is already prepared to go to work. He sits with us at the table, and my mother starts preparing his breakfast as he distributes the mail. As usual, nothing arrived for me. Or nothing _seems_ to have arrived.

"There's a letter for you, Hermione," my father says, and I look at him, eager to know what surprises might have come. But he does not put the letter on the table, in front of me, immediately. He looks at my mother with a grave expression on his face, and finally turns to me. "Have any of your friends been playing jokes on you?"

I raise my eyebrows. "Why do you say that?" I had never received a prank or a joke through mail, and I couldn't see why someone would try doing it at this time of year, when classes had already ended and I was going to change to High School. My father, looking a bit fearful and confused, drops the mysterious envelope right beside my mug on the table.

It is definitely a rather unusual letter. The envelope is thick, of a material that resembles old parchment, and the address is written in emerald green ink. Oddly enough, it is directed to "Ms. H. Granger, Bedroom upstairs," with the correct address below – otherwise it wouldn't make it through the mail, I guess – and behind, there's a stamp of a symbol that reminds me of an ancient coat-of-arms, with a big "H" in the middle. I wonder what it means.

"Someone's been really creative about their joke," my father remarks, while I slowly open the envelope, almost carefully as if I were afraid of tearing or damaging something. "The material seems almost authentic."

My mother chuckles, but nervously. She isn't pleased at the fact that this mysterious letter arrived but she can't help but laugh at the calm way my father deals with things.  As soon as she notices I'm opening the envelope, she holds her breath, almost anxiously. "Do you really think it's a good idea to open it?"

"Let her see what it's about," my father says right after, as if comforting or convincing her. "You'll see it's just Ashley, knowing how she loves these fantasy things, and the letter on the inside will explain it. Who else knows that our daughter sleeps upstairs anyway?"

My mother shrugs and nods. After all, my father makes a point, and it would seem a quite plausible one had the letter on the inside corresponded to his expectations. But it is very much different that what my father had predicted; it talks about a new school, about wizards and witchcraft, and about owls; it is even more confusing than the arrival of the envelope itself. 

_HOGWARTS SCHOOL OF WITCHCRAFT AND WIZARDRY_

Headmaster: Albus Dumbledore   
(Order of Merlin, First Class, Grand Sorc., Chf. Warlock, Supreme Mugwump, International Confed. of Wizards)

_Dear Ms Granger,   
We are pleased to inform you that you have a place at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment.   
Term begins on 1 September. We await your owl by no later than 31 July._

_Yours sincerely,_

_Minerva McGonagall   
Deputy Headmistress_

What is this? The confusion in my head is growing quite large.  I recognize some names – Merlin for one – as I have read many authors' takes on Arthurian legends, but I cannot understand what they are doing in there. I move for the next page, the supplies' list, and as my eyes wade through the names, I notice materials such as 'cauldron' and 'wand'. I wonder if this is real. If it is, then it's the passport I needed for that fantasy world I had always dreamt about; it's that life-changing experience I wanted.

"This is crazy," my mother moans as she reads the first page of the letter. "What do you think, Jon?" She hands my father the piece of parchment – it certainly does not look like paper – and my father comments after a quick glance.

"I just think that the people who sent this should dedicate themselves to writing fantasy books," he says, sighing. "This type of thing works really well with the kids. Very imaginative." He then nods sarcastically, as if approving of it, when clearly he disagrees with the 'joke' he thinks this is.

I look up from the supplies' list parchment, which I was reading, to look at my parents. My mother is biting her lip, looking quite bewildered, not sure in what to believe; it seems as though no explanation has yet satisfied her. My father looks as if nothing had really happened. But I'm still not convinced. Everything in this mysterious envelope, from the supplies to the books' names, to the content of the letter itself, seems quite coherent between them, too flawless for a kid's joke.

"May- Maybe this is not a joke, dad." My suggestion, instead of making my parents jump on their seats as I had expected, has the opposite effect. My mother looks anxiously at my father, waiting for his reaction; but he seems just as calm as ever.

"You mustn't believe in fantasy tales so easily, sweetheart," he says, looking at me almost pitifully, with a comforting smile. "This is silly in all its content. You do not really believe someone could have a wand, do you?"

I shake my head. Maybe he's right. I've only seen someone hold a wand in the Disney movies, when I was five, six years old. Those tales have always fascinated me, but I've never imagined they could be true. And they weren't true. Usually, my father is the one who has the reason, while I keep dreaming, dreams which are usually crushed when confronted with reality.

But I do not give up hope while I still don't know the truth. And while my father can build many plausible theories, they're not necessarily true. "Then...why did someone send this to me?" I ask.

My father shrugs. "That I do not know. Maybe you should ask your friend Ashley?"

I shake my head. Ashley would never send such a letter to me without telling me about it, for she knew what my reaction would be. "There you have it... Why would someone send this to me? The only explanation is, because this is _true_!" I shoot at my father, raising my voice. "Why don't you believe a magical world away from this boring, modern life could be true? Why?"

My mother bites her lip, while my father shows signs of doing an extreme effort controlling himself not to yell at me in return. "Maybe you should go change yourself, Ashley should be arriving soon; don't forget you were supposed to meet today at 11," she says almost in a whisper, urging me to leave the kitchen. Maybe I had gone too far now, but my father had provoked my reaction through his indifferent comments.

"I will," I reassure my mother. I grab the letter on the table hurriedly and leave the kitchen, heading straight to my room.

**A/N:** I hope you liked! Please review; constructive criticism is welcome, blatant flames will be ignored. Thanks in advance!


	2. Chapter 2, An owl and a response

**Disclaimer:** (check first chapter)

_Chapter 2, An owl and a response_

Lying between the sheets in my bed, as it is still to be made, I re-read the letter at least five times before I finally sigh and put it down. Each time I read it, I check one detail or another, always looking for some proof of truth I can confront my father with. But my attempts are in vain, as the letter only seems likely to be true when you don't question its contents; in fact, if you ask yourself if a wand is something real, you end up answering a definite 'No'. However, after this letter arrived, I feel like pouring my heart into this belief that the answer to this question should be a definite 'Yes' instead. And yet, I can't put it into words, into paper, into objects, into logical explanations I can show to other people like my parents so as to make them share my certainty.

My only company right now is Greymalkin. She seems to be the only one to share my mood every time I'm sad or upset with my parents. That is why sometimes I regret the fact that my parents only decided to have a single child. Although I haven't become a spoiled brat like other only children from my school, I believe it had other negative influences on me. There are times when I think a brother or sister – younger, older, or the same age – would have come just in handy. At the very least, they would talk back when I need to vent, which is something my cat doesn't...

She sits under my desk, licking her paws distractedly, as if she had nothing else to do and was quite bored. She seems to notice I'm looking at her and lets out a gracious 'meow', in order to attract my attention further; but my reaction is the opposite. I just keep staring blankly as she stops her cleaning, stretches herself, yawning – the laziness of my cat! – and curls again, as if getting ready to sleep.

I'm supposed to be getting ready to leave, but I ignore the little voice in my head that keeps reminding me of it. I prefer to delay in the slow minutes of the summer morning, to observe the sunshine growing brighter and brighter outside, and to stare at the white ceiling just thinking about whatever I feel like. Today I keep dreaming about the fantasy world presented to me this morning. I can only imagine me, holding a wand, in front of a magic teacher, making a feather float in the air with a simple incantation.

Why can't it be considered as natural as succeeding in a chemistry lab experiment? I believe that magic can be in everyone's hearts; one just has to let it flow in the imagination. Anything can be real, as long as you believe it, and that works with magic too, I guess. _You just have to believe in yourself, and then the phrase 'you can't do it' loses all the meaning_, my granny told me when I was seven and entered a poetry contest. I won it in the end, but I wouldn't have gone anywhere hadn't it been for her wise advice.

I also remember an episode that happened to me in fifth grade. I was walking out of the last class of the morning when Tina, the horrible sixth grader brat, bumped into me and stuck a chewing gum to my hair. She lost herself in apologies, in her sly, false way, but the truth is, being my hair as bushy and tangled as it is, I would never be able to work it out without cutting it really short. I ran to the girls' bathroom, where I hid for all of lunch break crying, and I wished really hard that this had just been a dream, something I imagined myself. And what is not my surprise when, almost magically, when I tried to take the chewing gum out of my hair, it came out as if it had never really stuck to it.

"Csssssss..." Greymalkin suddenly jumps as if something had threatened her, startling me from my thoughts. I hear something like a bird's chirp outside and its beak knocking on the glass of the window, and I lazily get up to see it. Oddly enough, I see the wise eyes of an owl lurk from below the half-open persienne, urging me to open the window and let the bird in. And so do I. It jumps to my desk and starts hopping around, throwing down the box where I had all my coloured pens.

"Watch out!" I tell the owl in a harsh whisper, careful not to make too much noise. It had been enough the sound of my pens falling on the floor, which could attract my parents to my room, worried with what might have happened. The bird seems to have understood my words; it seems to be calming down, but its beak keeps pecking my hand as if drawing my attention to something. And that something, as I notice right after, is a piece of parchment attached to the owl's paw.

As I remove it, I notice it is blank. But why would a blank parchment arrive to my bedroom through an owl? I search my head for an answer, when all of a sudden, I remember of the previous letter that had arrived through mail. Hurriedly, I pick up the letter from my bed and sit at the desk, re-reading it. "_We await your owl by no later than 31 July_," it says. I realize that I'm supposed to write an answer in the parchment and send it back through the owl, whatever that may result in. I guess it works as a confirmation that I got the letter and I'll be going to the school.

Although I'm still not sure if my parents allow me to enroll, I see this as my opportunity to anticipate myself. If I manage to send the reply, it will be even more difficult for my parents to stop me from going to this school, to this fantasy world. I look at the blank parchment and I wonder what and how I should write on it. I know that in past times, when paper wasn't used yet, people wrote on parchment with a quill and ink. But I don't have an inkstand, let alone a quill! Finally, as I don't have a better idea and the owl seems to be quite agitated – I fear she will throw down another box of mine – I pick one of my 'uniball' black-coloured pens, and write as carefully as I can. "_Dear Mr. Dumbledore,_" I start, wondering if this is the right way to address a seemingly important headmaster of a magical school, "_I am writing in order to inform you that I have received the letter of my acceptance at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry._"

"_However, I am having trouble with some things. I do not know, and was not informed of, where I can find all the material and supplies there described as mandatory. I also have no information about the school and where it is located. I hope you'll be able to help me with a solution and/or a brief explanation._

"_Thanks in advance,_

"_Hermione Granger_"

I read it once before I attach it back to the owl's paw. It seems quite all right. Maybe it's not the kind of letter one should write in the magical world, but, at least, I wrote it according to my English teacher's 'Rules for a Formal Letter', which we studied this year. That way, it couldn't be _bad_. Either that or my English teacher was a truly incompetent one.

_Knock knock._ "Are you ready yet?" I hear my mother's voice call from behind the bedroom's door. I'm still on my pyjamas, but what worries me the most is the owl, which I haven't sent yet. I finally finish attaching the parchment to the bird's paw with a final knot. I open the window, hurriedly, and urge the owl to fly out, but she doesn't cooperate; she keeps pecking on my hand. Suddenly, I realise that maybe she requires some kind of payment.

"Hermione?" my mother repeats from outside, followed by another knock on the door. As I can't find my purse, I try to address the owl, saying in a whisper, "Send this to Mr. Albus Dumbledore, will you?" but she gives no reply, except for a chirp. She stays on the same place, still pecking my hand; she seems to have understood the message, but she needs something in return. Something I do not seem to have.

Another knock on the door, now more violent, startles me, making me realise the pathetic situation I'm involved in. If my mother manages to get inside the room and the owl is still inside, I'll receive some kind of punishment right away. Desperately, I try to draw her attention away. "I'm almost ready, mom," I lie. Thankfully, the immediate response follows, "I meet you downstairs in five minutes." I breathe of relief.

However, the time is limited and I do not see a quick way to get rid of the owl. I feel so desperate I almost regret I let her in on the first place. Aggravating the situation, Greymalkin starts hissing at the intruder, making her hop around the desk feeling threatened. "Shh," I tell my cat, placing a finger upon my lips. She obeys but throws me a superior glance showing that she is not in agreement. Disturbed by the cat's behaviour, the owl bumps into one of my other boxes, and had I not stopped it from falling, it would've made the same noise as the pen box before.

I figure that the only way out of this mess is to give the owl a coin. I look in my bag for my purse, but meanwhile, I find something inside that may suit the occasion better – a pack of bird food. I sigh of relief, grinning. It's a nice coincidence that Ashley asked me to keep it on the way home yesterday and I forgot to give it back to her. Now it proves to be extremely useful.

"Here," I whisper to the owl, opening the pack carefully and dropping some of the food on the desk. It immediately eats it, as if it were hungry, then pecks my hand in a sign of thankfulness, or so I understand it. Hopping to the door's sill, it seems to wave goodbye with its wings before it flies away from my home, hopefully to the destination I ordered it to.

I stop observing the owl as it flies farther and farther when I look at my clock and realize that the five minutes my mother had gave me were close to an end. I open the wardrobe and take out a pair of jeans and a blouse as fast as possible, while I swear to myself I won't let laziness get over me again whenever I'm on time pressure. Tidying the room the best I can so my mother won't be too upset, I run out of the door, combing my hair in a hurry as I rush down the stairs and hiding the brush on my bag.

"I'm here," I announce to my mother as I enter the room where she's sitting on a sofa, watching the news on TV. "Can we go now?"

My mother stands up and turns off the television, which I always deemed too big for our small and modest living room. "Next time pay more attention to the clock," she says, walking past me and to the main entrance, while I follow, "You must get used to it; in High School teachers have _zero_ tolerance as far as being on time is concerned." She emphasizes the 'zero' comment with a gesture of her hand.

I sigh. "What if I _don't_ go to High School?"

My mother ignores this last comment as though she hadn't heard it.

**A/N:** I hope you liked this chapter, don't forget to review, please! My biggest thanks to all those who already reviewed.

To bey-girl-nicky: Yes, as you can see, I've made more chapters :) I hope you enjoy them!

To Zahri Seb Melitor: Thanks, I hope my story lives up to your expectations. I'll be sure to prove Hermione's parents that the wizarding world exists! [because it _does_, right? ;)]

To shreve: I'll be sure to answer your question in the next chapter, I think. Or, if not, in chapter 4 for sure!:)

To Wonderlust: Hehe, that's one of the reasons I had the idea for this fic. Thankies for the advice. Chapter 1 is now revised.

To Jule: Ahhh, the evil three! I just pointed one evil three in your ficcy too, so don't complain!:P hehe. I also checked the other mistakes, thanks for the advice.

To GreyLadyBast: Thanks for everything! That's a nice point. I'll be sure to explain it when the time comes.=)

To Artemis-E: It's a fun name, isn't it! THANKS to all of those in the PPC who helped me out with it! Also, I have never worked with this tense before, so it is a bit difficult, but not too much. I just have to pay attention. Sometimes I find a sentence written in the past tense while I am writing and I have to spot it so I can change it. Be sure to warn me if any of them remains unnoticed, hehe!:P 


	3. Chapter 3, Argument with a friend

**Disclaimer:** (check first chapter)

_Chapter 3, Argument with a friend_

Inside the car, I moan some affirmative monosyllables as my mother tells me the usual list of advice every time I leave for a friend's house – how I should behave, inside the house, in front of my friend's parents, as if I didn't know Ashley's parents for ages and I were one of those bad-behaved kids who only cause trouble wherever they go – until we finally come to a halt near the front door of Ashley's large house. She may have been waiting for me, because as soon as my mother rings the bell, she opens the door, running to greet me with a warm hug.

"Hi! How are you doing?" she asks happily, her hands on my shoulders, scrutinizing my face as if she found my expression a little weird or unusual. And indeed it is true, as in the corner of my mouth there is a trace of an excited smile I'm trying to suppress. She guesses I have some good news or a new tale to tell and she winks at me, before she turns to greet my mother with a brief handshake.

"Hadn't seen you in a long time, Mrs. Granger," Ashley says, always politely. "I suspect your work has been occupying you terribly, or am I wrong? It is a pity, of course. My mother loves to have a nice tea with you any day."

"Oh, thank you," my mother says, retributing the compliment. "I also appreciate your mother's company, you know." After a short pause, she adds, "Ah well. I am in a hurry right now. Pleased to see you, Ashley." She gives another handshake to my friend and quickly turns back to enter again the car. When it is already far enough so we can't hear its sound, Ashley takes me by the hand and leads me through the path and into the house's entrance. I stop at the threshold as a busy, almost out-of-breath Mrs. Saunders turns to greet me warmly.

"Be welcome, Hermione! How are you doing, sweetheart? I'm sorry for the mess," she says, looking down at her slightly dirty apron, "but it takes a while to take care of this huge house when the maid is ill."

"I'm sorry to hear of that, Mrs Saunders," I say, almost automatically as my mother taught me to. "But it is my pleasure to come to your house." Mrs Saunders smiles gratefully.

"Now if you excuse me, I will go back to work," she announces, and leaves again in the direction of the kitchen, leaving me and my friend alone. Ashley's house is, though in larger scale, organized like mine: the bedrooms are upstairs and the dining and living rooms, along with kitchen, study and other compartments. The stairs that lead to the upper floor are right in front of us; so I look at my friend and she looks at me, and after a short exchange of glances we start to run madly up the stairs and into Ashley's bedroom, probably making so much noise with our feet that Mrs Saunders might have left the kitchen again to see if everything was okay with us.

My friend arrives first and falls into her bed with a sigh. Gasping, I sit in the chair near her desk and put my purse on the table while I try to recover. However, I do not place it the right way as it slides on the slightly inclined desk and falls before I could catch it, spilling its contents all around the floor. Ashley immediately jumps from the bed to help me pick my belongings and when doing so, she immediately notices the large envelope I brought with me.

"So... what do we have here?" she says with an amused look that leaves my intrigued. With a movement of the hand, she puts aside the black curls that had dropped in front of her eyes and scans the addresses in the envelope quickly, her big eyes filled with curiosity.

"I received that letter today, I was going to tell you... it's from a... magic school." Somehow, it is still a bit difficult for me to say these words out loud, though I already have the belief, strong in my mind, that the letter is authentic. Ashley looks up from the envelope and sits again at the edge of her bed. "Really?" she asks, a bit out of curiosity, a bit out of disbelief, her expression a mixture of amazement and doubtfulness.

"Yeah, really," I answer, but not too convincingly. Ashley raises her eyebrows, as if waiting for more, and I gesture to the envelope she holds in her hands. "You can read it by yourself, then... tell me what you think." She opens the envelope almost obediently, reading the letter with the same eagerness that had driven me hours before to do the same. An awkward minute passes while she reads the letter and the enclosed list of materials, each twice before she breaks the silence.

"I... really... don't know what to say," she says slowly, as if thinking each word as she speaks. "Do you believe it is true?"

I nod slowly, a bit afraid of her reaction, as she hasn't stated yet if she shares or not my opinion. "I do," I reply, "because there's not only this." She raises her eyebrows in surprise, possibly waiting for me to pick up yet another letter from nowhere; but I simply tell her of the episode with the owl, which she follows with interest. When I reach the end of it, she laughs, a little nervously, and looks a little bit longer at me, as if scrutinizing my face, trying to find the meaning of this, trying to guess my thoughts, my doubts and beliefs.

"I hope things get more clear after the response from that headmaster," she remarks, and pauses before she continues. "For I certainly don't think this is clear to us as of now."

I know Ashley well enough to know when she is speaking seriously. She starts to use more formal language, as if keeping a distance for safety purposes, and she sits with her back very straight. It would be a fairly good example of an efficient professional. Cold, formal and efficient, that's what she becomes when she's serious about something and doesn't want to get emotionally attached. And I realize this is one of these times, and I can vaguely guess the reason. But before I could say something, she shoots a question at me.

"So what are you going to do if the answer is affirmative? Will you take up this invitation? Give up from your studies?" Maybe she doesn't mean it, but her voice has a touch of bitterness and is directed quite aggressively. I try not to show that I felt it, as I am positive she didn't do it on purpose.

"First of all, it would need a bit of explanation for my parents to agree, but I believe that when everything has been settled, yes, maybe I will try it out." She looks to me and then gazes to the window and outside, where the sun's rays bathe the leaves of the enormous tree in her garden. She has a dreamy expression that I can only identify as thoughtfulness, pondering about questions like 'Why didn't I get this invitation too?', that I'm sure I would have wondered as well had she been the one to receive the acceptance letter.

"You don't have to look so sad," I say, as an attempt to comfort her, "It's not as though I'm leaving for good."

_Though it is almost,_ a voice whispers in my head, _For you know your friendship won't be the same._ As I try to ignore these thoughts, she speaks of them. "Oh no," she comments, irony obvious in her voice. "Don't you see it's the same? You're my only friend, Hermione. I don't want to go back to the times when I spent my lunch breaks in the library, or had to do all the pair work alone in class."

"I'm sorry," I whisper, uncertain of what to say. "I'm so sorry. But maybe things were meant to be this way... And you don't have to be so pessimistic." I throw a reassuring, comforting look at her before I make a new suggestion. "Maybe... maybe there's a place for you too," I say not too convincingly, almost in an interrogative manner. "It's not as if there's no place for you if there is place for me."

Ashley sighs. "But it is what it looks like, isn't it? Oh my God, Hermione, sometimes you're so naïve!" she says tiredly, as if resigned to an inevitable condition. She gets up on her feet and starts to walk around the room. "They want you, not me. The letter is directed to you. And do you want to know my opinion, honestly?" It seems like a threat is hidden beneath her words, but it annoys me that she is letting her jealousy take over her feelings. However, I try to summon my generosity to stand her offensive words, my patience to convince me that she is out of her mind and isn't doing this on purpose; but she goes on. "I wouldn't want to go there anyway. What do you think this witchcraft business is? Alice's Wonderland? They're probably a bunch of freaks who are sending this to anyone mad enough to believe them!"

As soon as she says these words, I can't stand it any longer, and I feel tears come to my eyes and fall to my cheeks as I am too shocked to worry about keeping them from doing so. The thoughts flow in my mind at the velocity of light, and I start to feel angry, though I make a huge effort not to show it. "I thought you were the only one who understood me and shared my beliefs," I say, trembling. "It is enough that my parents are against it."

"I will not believe in this nonsense," she says affirmatively, her gaze drifting away from me.

I look down. "Anything can be real as long as we believe."

"Nonsense," she repeats again, and then louder. "Nonsense!"

Still looking at my feet, I realize that this matter must not be solved on the moment, as my friend is far too mad to even understand my feelings about this letter. Tears still flow down my cheeks. I never thought I would get on a discussion with Ashley, let alone because of this letter - I thought she shared my views about fantasy. But today it seems she has forgotten about all these worlds we dreamt of together, about all those conversations we had about our future projects. And it saddens me...

As she seems not to react, lost in thought and staring blankly at the outside, I decide to leave. I pick my letter from her bed, where she has placed it, and walk to the door. "I'm sorry," I say in a hoarse voice between sobs, before I close the door of her bedroom behind me and go running down the stairs and out of her house.

**A/N:** I'm SO SORRY that this chapter took so long! I've just been away from home, and at other times, really busy, so I couldn't write/have access to fanfiction.net, and a big writer block seemed to form.:( I hope this chapter is good though, and I still hope you keep enjoying my story! Big thanks to those who read and/or reviewed the second chapter :) And don't forget to review this one, please!:D

To Zahri Seb Melitor: Revised the sentence you spotted.:) Please tell me if there are places where the story doesn't flow very well, if you can, with suggestions to improve it; it's one of the problems I have due to my short vocabulary (English is not my first language), and I've been trying to improve. :) Thanks in advance. For the zero tolerance policy, I'm not sure if it really exists, but I got that idea from the 'British punctuality' we refer to whenever someone's somewhere on time.:P We Portuguese people aren't too good at being on time either, but I'm happy to say that at my school things work pretty well.:)

To scarlet diamonds: Hope you keep enjoying! I'm glad you liked that scene.:)

To shreve: That is something that will be explained on the last chapters (I'm still not sure how long will be this story). Still, I hope you keep reading and enjoying my story!:)


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